Inward Spiral
by LilTigre
Summary: Real love is a spiral, the spin of two immovable objects being drawn together by a force greater than gravity. Reeve and Vincent, and how the slow spin of love pulls them together. Stage 3 now up.
1. Stage 1: Attraction

It's odd, how they seem to flow against each other even as they move together, two living, breathing examples of yin and yang. Vincent all cloaked in red, the color of fire, yet with a temperament cold as ice; and Reeve, sheathed in ocean blue, yet warm and passionate like flames in the hearth. On the outside, the two seem polar opposites in every conceivable way. 

Inside, it's a different matter.

Below the surface they fit together like a puzzle, each one filling in the gaps of the other. Vincent speaks in body language, saying volumes in a look or a twitch of his head; when it comes to spoken language he is awkward, not always able to distinguish mood and intent. Reeve is fluent when it comes to speaking, using words and vocal pitch to weave a verbal tapestry; however, he's often blind to the small movements and gestures that say something totally different than what he hears. Vincent is often too restrained, letting opportunity slide by because he does not know how to grasp it; Reeve knows how to loosen those restraints, and how to salvage opportunity before it's too late. Likewise, Reeve is impulsive and too easily swayed by his emotions; Vincent knows how to temper the emotional flames and redirect them for maximum effect. Apart, they tend to sway to the extremes; together, they balance each other out.

In the end, though, it's their similarities that spark the first attractions. From the loves that both saw die and were unable to save, to the inner demons (literal and figurative) that keeps them up at night, to how they take their coffee- they seem to slowly spiral closer as time moves on, each seeking the other pieces to complete the puzzle of their life.

-

"They're at it again."

Cid glanced up to see the WRO commissioner leaning up against the wall, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand as he explained some grand new plan; sitting in front of him was Vincent, looking politely bored by the conversation. "At what? Reeve boring th' hell outta Vince?"

Shera laughed and leaned forward. "You're not looking closely enough. Try again."

Rolling his eyes, he lit up another cigarette and looked back. Yes, Vincent looked bored with the conversation- but behind the curtain of hair and the edge of his cloak, his eyes kept darting up to Reeve's face, lingering for a few seconds before lowering his gaze to the wall or the steam rising from his mug of coffee. Reeve was talking calmly- when, that is, he wasn't shifting from one foot to the other or sneaking glances of his own at his quiet companion. Cid couldn't help a smirk as the two actually looked each other in the eye on accident. "Gaia, they're like a couple of teenagers," he grunted, rolling his eyes. "They're adults. You'd think they'd come out an' say somethin'."

Across the room, the two were clearing their throats and looking everywhere but at each other, clearly a bit unnerved. Reeve finally broke a smile; Vincent said something in a quietly amused voice, making Reeve throw his head back and laugh. In that moment, Cid caught the faintest hint of a smile on Vincent's lips- one that was open and unrestrained. "They don't have to," Shera said, covering Cid's hand with her own and squeezing. "I think they know."


	2. Stage 2: Romance

Romance, according to Yuffie, means flowers and chocolates and giddy phonecalls in the middle of the night. It means holding hands and sneaking into closets to make out, playing footsie under the table and staring dreamily into your lover's eyes for long periods of time. It means sneaking kisses under the moonlight and dancing under the stars and all the other cliches that keep cropping up in the overblown romance novels she reads. 

Romance, in her book, does not mean long boring talks over weaponry or discussions of political movements. It does not mean standing bodyguard over your supposed boyfriend while he visits the troops in the hospital. They don't hold hands; they don't kiss in public or snuggle or sigh in loving wonder. According to the ninja, whatever Reeve and Vincent have going on, it most definitely is not romantic.

Yuffie, as usual, has no idea what the hell she's talking about.

-

"Coffee?"

The small lounge on the Highwind was deserted this late at night; after midnight, the airship ran on a skeleton crew, which left the two men in relative seclusion. Blueprints that had been spread out earlier over the tables were now neatly rolled up into bundles and set aside on the floor. Vincent glanced down at the empty mug in his right hand and nodded curtly. "It's a bit late for you to be drinking caffeine, Reeve," he rumbled as the other man took the cup.

"I still have some adjustments I'd like to make on the secondary engines," Reeve replied, flashing Vincent a weary grin when he raised an eyebrow. "If I could wait for us to arrive in Junon, I would. I've worked on short shifts before. I'll be fine."

The gunslinger turned in his seat to watch Reeve as he slowly made his way to the counter. "One more adjustment. Then you're going to bed." He raised his clawed hand before Reeve could protest. "You're exhausted. It's obvious. You won't do anyone any good working yourself into the ground."

"Mmm." The WRO commissioner puttered around the counter, carefully measuring out the coffee and flicking the last grains of sugar from a handful of packets before adding in a few drops of cream. He lingered for a moment over Vincent's mug, almost as if considering, then slowly walked back with them. "I suppose you're right," he conceded; his hands were trembling with the effort of holding the heavy coffee cups. "Maybe I should take a catnap."

Vincent smirked and took his as Reeve sat next to him. "I still have that mastered Sleep materia, Reeve. Don't make me use it." He sipped at the heady brew, paused in surprise, then took another careful sip. Finally he dipped his fingers into the mug and fished out a half-melted square of Gongagan chocolate, rich and dark and fragrant. "... romantic," he accused, a slight smile touching his lips.

Reeve sat his coffee aside and chuckled softly. "I couldn't resist." He slumped down on the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him; Vincent shifted slightly so that his head was resting up against his shoulder. "Remind me... to pick some more up. Yuffie's been raiding my stash."

"Hmm." Vincent licked the last of the melted chocolate off his fingers. The other's eyes had closed; he shook his head with that same faint smile as Reeve settled his head in, claws closing ever-so-gently around his hand. "Go to sleep, Reeve. I'll wake you in an hour."


	3. Stage 3: Passion

Shelke didn't understand passion. She _knew_ about it, of course, from the defragmented remnants of Dr. Lucrecia Crescent's personality within her. Those memories were within her, focused on Vincent- young, vibrant yet shy in public, and in private... well. The young lady couldn't think of that without blushing furiously. Vincent had been a _very_ passionate and expressive person- and creative. It was his fault she couldn't look at a piano without blushing like mad. He had been passionate then. Now, he seemed... flat. Cold. Indifferent to the pleasures of the flesh, as if his long years under Hojo's reign and in repose in a coffin had leeched out every bit of that vibrancy.

Reeve was almost as bad, in her opinion, but for different reasons. He was passionate, all right- about his work. Whether it was fixing loose wires on Cait Sith or directing reconstruction of a new business complex, he was in the thick of things, seeming to thrive off of watching chaos coalesce into order. He was passionate about his friends- family, she supposed, since he had no living blood kin. Even Barrett had to reluctantly accept that, since Marlene would throw fits if Tifa tried to leave her with anyone other than her 'Uncle Reeve'. Shelke was certain, however, that those areas were the _only_ ones he ever expressed passion in. She'd heard scuttlebutt from ex-Shinra, rumors that she took as truth, how the Head of Urban Development had shunned most all intimate contact. Never married, infrequently seen with members of either sex in any capacity outside of work.

So when Shelke had heard the rumors that the ex-Turk and the WRO commissioner were sleeping together, she could only shake her head in disbelief. Co-workers, yes; friends, certainly; but lovers? Not possible. For two people who were so logical and self-controlled? In her mind they were almost asexual, too old and set in their ways to match the idea of passion Lucrecia's fragments keep tossing at her mind.

They didn't match the passion of old at all. They exceeded it.

-

Sex is a taboo subject for verbal discussion between them, at least in public. It's not that they're uncomfortable with it, per se- Reeve has the libido of a sixteen-year-old, and Vincent loops from quiet and gentle to feral and wild with a proverbial flip of a switch. It's just that, as so many other things, it's just not something to talk about in public. Think about, yes- but not openly discussed.

So when Reeve gets a faraway look in his eyes as he picks at his dessert

_(dark brown dripping over that lean, scarred stomach, the sweetness of chocolate and the faint salt of sweat as he drew his tongue over the skin, and oh, how he'd quivered when he'd taken that bite of the fruit and fed him, mouth to mouth, tongues dueling over the last tiny piece-)_

Vincent just shakes his head and hides his smile with a sip of wine- and hides his iother/i reaction with a well-placed claw in his lap.

Likewise, when Vincent goes silent and ducks his head into the high collar of his mantle

_(riding him, hard and fast, broad hands braced against his chest as his scarred and twisted hands dug into his hips, holding him steady above him with each thrust until he cried out and oh, how his hazel eyes had shone in the moonlight above him, half-slitted like a cat's, his skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat and his name on his lips as he came-)_

Reeve just gives him a speculative glance and shifts in his chair, the long coat covering all evidence of anything other than amusement.

The one time that they slip up in public, Shelke and Yuffie are there to catch them, in a supply closet of all places- Vincent pinning Reeve to the wall, Reeve's hands slipping up the front of Vincent's shirt, lips locked together- the girls squeal loud enough for half the crew of the Shera to hear. "I knew it!" Yuffie proclaims, ignoring Vincent's death glare and Reeve's flush of embarrassment. Shelke just stares, her cheeks heating up and the last fragments of Lucrecia stirring up alien jealousy. "It's about _time_ you guys admitted it! Gaia, you two have as much passion in you as a couple of old ladies! Hey Cid! Shera! They're finally doing it!" And she spins on her heel, Shelke in tow, to proclaim to the rest of the crew that, in fact, the ex-Turk and WRO commissioner have finally broken down and, horror of horrors, _kisse_d each other.

Reeve blinks and looks back up to Vincent. "... 'finally' doing it?" He laughs, not bothering to withdraw his hands from their explorations. "What the hell would she call all the _other_ times? Practice?"

Vincent chuckles, shivering as Reeve flicks a calloused thumb over one nipple. "Perhaps." He leans forward, eyes glowing, and nips at the other's lips. "Feel like putting some of those lessons to work?"

"Well, they do say practice makes perfect..." And Reeve reached out with his foot and slammed the door closed.


End file.
